(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
The police security service considers them to be the biggest terror threat to Norway in its threat assessment for 2017. They are categorized as foreign warriors, extreme Islamists and Syrians. In the public space, they are presented as criminal offenders who are terrorized, terrorized and necessary to monitor so we can make sure that an attack is not planned, so the terrorist alarm goes off. The worst enemy of our time. Such representations of returned foreign warriors are rooted in a security perspective. Safety first, of course.
But what does this major security focus do with the possibility of a good rehabilitation of returned foreign warriors?
Combined with safety considerations, we should find good solutions for rehabilitation and reintegration. That is, assistance to re-establish a life in Norwegian society. If there is room for this, the understanding of the foreign warriors must be adjusted. We should make sure that the security perspective does not become so far-fetched that we become blind to the individual differences that may be important in change work. After all, there are people we talk about. Much of the literature on Norwegian foreign warriors today is characterized by the fact that we speak om them. Few have spoken with them.
Distrust. As a long-awaited contrast to this, comes Demian Vitanza's new book This life or the next (Ashes, 2017). He's been talking with rather than om, giving readers the opportunity to balance their understanding. Although the book is a novel, you can learn a lot from the protagonist Tariq's story.
We must not be so concerned about security that we crush all potentially safe interlocutors.
"I don't trust anyone," is the first thing we can read Tariq say. The distrust has become a kind of harm to him. Such distrust of people around him is probably something more returned foreign warriors can recognize. Many of them have been prosecuted since their return to Norway, but far from all. Several have experienced getting their life choices printed in the media. Some have learned that what were once private conversations is now known to the public. This creates insecurity in meeting and dialogue with others. Messages sent to friends, potential boyfriends and to the family at their most vulnerable are presented to an entire press corps – which is common during the lawsuits. Anything written and said can be used against one another and lead to sanctions and punishments. To top it all off, the image of you with guns that once made you tough can eventually work out as what French sociologist Loïc Wacquant calls a kind of "reverse diploma" – proof of your lack of opportunities for the future.
With closed doors, the road is short back to old acquaintances.
Believe in change. For what now, what about the future? It is not that there must be either penalties and sanctions or rehabilitation. The two approaches must necessarily go hand in hand. Where punishment and sanctions are society's ways of responding when people do actions we cannot accept, rehabilitation is important for the future – both for the individual and for the community. We will live in this community together. The belief that humans can change governs much of our societal structure. If we stop believing in this, we can begin with lifetime judgments and discontinue follow-up services for the disadvantaged first and last. These are based on thinking that people can change if conditions are right for them and if they get the right help in the right place and at the right time. This does not mean that everyone vile change, but the system illustrates that we think everyone can.
If we are to succeed in rehabilitation, we as a society must create room for change and be clear on what we expect the Syrians to change. It is precisely these clarifications of goals and instruments that a dialogue with them – rather than a mention of them – will provide.
Safe rooms. In the health and care services we have in Norway, we rely heavily on dialogue as a method. This presupposes trust between those who will receive services and those who will provide them. The future rehabilitation work for the returned foreign fighters can only begin when we invest in contact establishment. Security must be created between the parties. No contact, no dialogue. We must not become so concerned about security that we smash all potentially safe conversation rooms. The division of roles must be clear, so that not everyone becomes part of the police's long arm. Healthcare professionals' duty of confidentiality is precisely what should help to make those who need help confident that information about themselves remains in the closed room. It is such safe rooms that have for a long time provided the opportunity for a good therapeutic relationship, which is the prerequisite for successful change work – combined with clear goals of what changes are needed. The coercive methods have only taken us a long way; perhaps it is the consent-based methods that can now take us further.
Community. Rehabilitation is important, also from a safety perspective. A good rehabilitation can also have a preventive effect. There are several who will eventually come out of prison with a "reverse diploma". We can invite or we can reject. Even I think an invitation to be a part of the community, with clear goals and tools for the journey there, gives far more positive effect than reflecting distrust and rejection. What help they have received in prison and how we meet them outside the walls will be of significance to the foreign warrior's further choices. With closed doors, the road returns to old familiar cards. While an outstretched hand can have countless positive consequences. However, this requires that people have faith that people can change.
